
Oass 

Book 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 




PERFECT DAY, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 



BY 



IN A D . COOLBEITH 



AUTHOR S SPECIAL SUBSCRIPTION EDITION. 




s IfoJl 

San Francisco: 

1881. 






■ 1 7 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1881, 

By INA D. COOLBRITH, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



John II. Carmany & Co., Printers 

San Francisco, Cal. 



TO THE MEMORY OF 

MY MOTHER: 

IN WHOSE LIVING HANDS I ONCE HOPED TO PLACE 
THIS LITTLE VOLUME, I NOW DEDICATE WHAT- 
EVER OF WORTH IT MAY CONTAIN, WITH 
ALL REVERENCE AND LOVE. 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

A Perfect Day g 

In Blossom Time I2 

A Hope I4 

An Answer 16 

Longing jg 

Two 2I 

In Time of Falling Leaves .... 22 

My "Cloth of Gold" 25 

When the Grass shall Cover Me . . 30 

The Mother's Grief 32 

At Set of Sun 34 

" To -Morrow is too Far Away" . . 36 

The Years 38 

If Only 40 

Sailed 42 

Not Yet 44 

" While Lilies Bud and Blow" ... 46 



vi contents. 

California 49 

How Looked the Earth ? .... 60 

Love in Little 63 

No More 65 

Withheld 67 

A Song of the Summer Wind .... 70 

A Fancy 75 

Cupid Kissed Me 77 

Summer Past 81 

With a Wreath of Laurel . . . .84. 

Ownership 88 

In the Pouts 9° 

Siesta 9 2 

In Memoriam — Hon. B. P. Avery ... 94 

Two Pictures 9 6 

Loneliness 100 

Beside the Dead 101 

The Road to School 102 

Who Knoweth ? 107 

Marah • IQ 8 

The Coming in 

Rebuke 114 

Discipline 116 



CONTENTS. Vll 



117 
II 9 



At Peace 

Ungathered 

La Flor del Salvador 122 

After the Winter Rain .... 124 

Oblivion 126 

Question and Answer 130 

To Day's Singing 132 

Fruitionless 135 

The Faded Flower 137 

Daisies . . • 139 

"One Touch of Nature" .... 140 

Meadow -Larks 142 

I can not Count my Life a Loss . . . 144 

From Living Waters 146 

In Adversity 

Summons 

Sufficient ....... 

A Prayer 162 

The Brook 164 

An Emblem .... ... 167 

Forgotten 169 

Christmas Eve 170 

Fulfillment 172 



i54 
157 
i59 



Though the dear tasks which once I knew 
I know no more, it yet is mine, 
Ere I am lain where thou art laid, 
To place this wreath of rose and rue 
Upon thy memory's sacred shrine, 
0, thou beloved Shade! 



A PERFECT DAY. 




WILL be glad to - day : the sun 

Smiles all adown the land ; 
The lilies lean along' the way ; 
Serene on either hand, 



<J\^> The full - blown roses, red and 



white, 
In perfect beauty stand. 



The mourning - dove within the woods 

Forgets, nor longer grieves ; 

A light wind lifts the bladed corn, 

And ripples the ripe sheaves ; 
2 



10 A PERFECT DAY. 

High overhead some happy bird 
Sings softly in the leaves. 

The butterflies flit by, and bees ; 

A peach falls to the ground ; 
The tinkle of a bell is heard 

From some f ar pasture - mound ; 
The crickets in the warm, green grass 

Chirp with a softened sound. 

The sky looks down upon the sea, 

Blue, with not anywhere 
The shadow of a passing cloud ; 

The sea looks up as fair — 
So bright a picture on its breast 

As if it smiled to wear. 

A day too glad for laughter — nay, 



A PERFECT DAY. 11 

Too glad for happy tears ! 
The fair earth seems as in a dream 

Of immemorial years : 
Perhaps of that far morn when she 

Sang with her sister spheres. 

It may be that she holds to day 

Some sacred Sabbath feast : 
It may be that some patient soul 

Has entered to God's rest, 
For whose dear sake He smiles on us, 

And all the day is blest. 



12 IN BLOSSOM TIME. 



IN BLOSSOM TIME. 

T'S O my heart, my lieart, 
To be out in the sun and sing ! 
To sing and shout in the fields about, 
In the balm and the blossoming. 

Sing loud, O bird in the tree ; 

O bird, sing loud in the sky, 
And honey - bees, blacken the clover beds 

There are none of you glad as I. 

The leaves laugh low in the wind, 
Laugh low, with the wind at play ; 

And the odorous call of the flowers all 
Entices my soul away ! 



IN BLOSSOM TIME. 13 

For O but the world is fair, is fair — 

And O but the world is sweet ! 
I will out in the gold of the blossoming mold, 

And sit at the Master's feet. 

And the love my heart would speak, 

I will fold in the lily's rim, 
That th' lips of the blossom, more pure and 
meek, 

May offer it up to Him. 

Then sing in the hedgerow green, O thrush, 

O skylark, sing in the blue : 
Sing loud, sing clear, that the King may hear, 

And my sonl shall sing with you ! 



14 



A HOPE. 

TT befell me on a day — 

Long- ago ; ah, long* ago ! 
When my life was in its May, 
In the May - month of the year. 

All the orchards were like snow 
With jnnk - flushes there and here ; 
And a bird sang, building- near, 
And a bird sang far away, 
Where the early twilight lay. 

Long ago ! ah, long ago ! 
Youth's sweet May passed quite away 
May that never more is May ! 



Yet I hear the nightingale 



A HOPE. 15 



Singing far adown the vale 



Where the early twilight lies, 
Singing sad, and sweet, and strong 
Aud I wonder if the song 

May be heard in Paradise ! 



If) AN ANSWER. 



T 



AN ANSWER. 



HE wind was very sad among the branches, 



The moon had hid its light ; 
I threw 1113 7 window open to the darkness, 
And looked out on the night ; 

And thought of all the dear old times together. 

Days sweet for her sweet sake, 
And all I lost in losing her ; till, thinking, 

My heart seemed like to break. 

And O, I said, if I might have some token 
She is, and yet is mine, 



AN ANSWER. 17 

Though but a wind - tossed leaf, my soul would 
take it. 



And bless it, for the sign. 



And lo! a little wind sighed through the branches, 
The moon shone on the land, 



And cool and moist with the night dew, a leaflet 
Fluttered against mv hand ! 



18 



LONGING. 



LONGING. 

/~\ FOOLISH wisdom sought in books ! 
O aimless fret of household tasks ! 
O chains that bind the hand and mind — 
A fuller life my spirit asks ! 

For there the grand hills, summer- crowned, 
Slope greenly downward to the seas ; 

One hour of rest upon their breast 
Were worth a year of days like these. 

Their cool, soft green to ease the pain 
Of eyes that ache o'er printed words ; 

This weary voice — the city's voice, 

Lulled in the Found of bees and birds. 



LONGING. 19 

For Eden's life within me stirs, 

And scorns the shackles that I wear ; 

The man -life grand: }:>ure soul, strong hand, 
The limb of steel, the heart of air ! 

And I could kiss, with longing wild, 

Earth's dear brown bosom, loved so much, 

A grass -blade fanned across my hand, 
Would thrill me like a lover's touch. 

The trees would talk with me ; the flowers 
Their hidden meanings each make know 7 n — 

The olden lore revived once more, 

When man's and nature's heart were one ! 

And as the pardoned pair might come 
Back to the garden God first framed, 



20 



LONGING. 



And hear Him call at even - fall, 
And answer, Ci Here am I," misnamed — 

So I, from out these toils, wherein 

The Eden -faith grows stained and dim, 

Would walk, a child, through nature's wild 
And hear His voice and answer Him. 



TWO. *1 



TWO. 

/~\NE sang all clay, more merry than tli3 lark 

That mounts the morning skies : 
One silent sat, and lifted patient eyes. 

One heart kept happy time, from dawn to dark, 

With all glad things that he : 
One, listless, throbbed alone to memory. 

To one all blessed knowledge was revealed, 

And love made clear the way : 
One thirsted, asked, and still was answered nay 

To one, a glad, brief day, that slumber sealed 

And kept inviolate : 
To one, long years, that only knew to wait. 



22 IN TIME OF FALLING LEAVES. 



IN TIME OF FALLING LEAVES. 



T 



|HE summer rose is dead ; 
The sad leaves, withered, 
Strew ankle - deep the pathways to our tread 
Dry grasses mat the plain, 
And drifts of blossom slain ; 
And day and night the wind is like a pain. 

No nightingale to sing- 
In green boughs listening, 

Through balmy twilight hushes of the spring 
No thrush, no oriole 
In music to out -roll 

The little golden raptures of his soul. 



I\ TIME OF FALLING LEAVES. 23 

O royal summer - reign ! 

When will you come again, 
Bringing the happy birds across the main ? 

O blossoms ! when renew 

Your pretty garbs, and woo 
Your waiting, wild bee lovers back to you? 

For lo, my heart is numb ; 

For lo, my heart is dumb, 
Is silent till the birds and blossoms come ! 

A flower, that lieth cold 

Under the wintry mold, 
Waiting the warm spring - breathing to unfold. 

O swallow ! all too slow 
Over the waves you go, 
Dipping your light wings in their sparkling flow. 



24 IN TIME OF FALLING LEAVES. 

Over the golden sea, 
swallow, Hying free, 
Fly swiftly with the summer back to me ! 



MY "cloth of gold." 25 



MY "CLOTH OF GOLD." 

S~\ BUT the wind is keen, 

And the sky is dull as lead ! 
If only leaves were brown, 

Were only withered and dead, 
Perhaps I might not frown, 

However the storm might beat; 
But to see their delicate green 

Tossing in wind and rain, 

Whirling in lane and street, 
Trampled in mud and dirt — 

Alive to the winter pain, 
To the stino- and the hurt ! 



26 MY "cloth of gold." 

I wish they all were hid 
In a fleecy coverlid ; 
I wish I could bury the rose 
Under the northern snows, 
And make the land take off 
The purple and red and buff, 

And flamy tints that please 
Her tropical Spanish taste, 

And mantle her shapeliness, 

Just once, in the delicate dress 
Of her sisters, fairer faced, 

Over the seas. 

If but for a single day 

This vivid, incessant green 

Might vanish quite away, 
And never a leaf be seen : 



MY "cloth of gold." 27 

And woods be brown and sere, 
And flowers disappear : 
If only I might not see 
Forever the fruit on the tree, 

The rose on its stem ! 
For spring is sweet, and summer 
Ever a blithe new-comer — 

But one tires even of them ! 

You were pleasant to behold, 

When days were warm and bland, 
My beautiful "Cloth of Gold," 

My rose of roses, nursed 

With careful, patient hand ; 

So sunny and content, 
With butterflies about you, 

And bees that came and went, 



28 MY "cloth of gold." 

And could not do without you : 

But better to die at first, 
With the earliest blossom born, 
Than to live so crumpled and torn.. 
So dripping and forlorn. 



Better that you should be 
Safe housed and asleep 

Under the tough brown bark r 

Like your kindred over the sea ; 
Nor know if the day be drear, 
Nor heed if the sky be dark, 

If it rain or snow. 

But ah ! to be captive here, 

The live - long, dragging year, 

To the skies that smile and weep ; 



MY "cloth of gold." 29 

The skies that thrill and woo you, 

That torture and undo you, 
That lure and hold you so — 
And will not let you go ! 



30 WHEN THE GRASS SHALL COVER ME. 



WHEN THE GEASS SHALL COVEB ME. 

1T7HEN the grass shall cover me, 
Head to foot where I am lying ; 
When not any wind that blows, 
Summer -blooms nor winter- snows, 
Shall awake me to your sighing : 
Close above me as you pass, 
You will say, "How kind she was,'* 
You will say, "How true she was," 
When the grass grows over me. 

When the grass shall cover me, 
Holden close to earth's warm bosom ; 
While I laugh, or weep, or sing. 
Nevermore, for anything, 



WHEN THE GRASS SHALL COVER ME. 31 

You will find in blade and blossom, 
Sweet small voices, odorous, 
Tender pleaders in my cause, 
That shall speak me as I was — 
When the grass grows over me. 

When the grass shall cover me ! 
Ah, beloved, in my sorrow 

Very patient, I can wait, 

Knowing that, or soon or late, 
There will dawn a clearer morrow : 

When your heart will moan: "Alas! 

Now I know how true she was ; 

Now I know how dear she was " — 



When the grass grows over me ! 



32 the mother's grief. 



THE MOTHER'S GRIEF. 

QO fair the sun rose yester - morn, 

The mountain cliffs adorning : 
The golden tassels of the corn 

Danced in the breath of morning ; 
The cool, clear stream that runs before 

Such happy words was saying, 
And in the open cottage door 

My pretty babe was playing. 
Aslant the sill a sunbeam lay : 

I laughed in careless pleasure, 
To see his little hand essay 

To grasp the shining treasure. 



the mother's grief. 33 

To-day no shafts of golden flame 

Across the sill are lying ; 
To-day 1 call my baby's name, 

And hear no lisped replying ; 
To - day — ah, baby mine, to - day — 

God holds thee in His keeping ! 
And yet I weep, as one pale ray 

Breaks in upon thy sleeping — 
I weep to see its shining bands 

Reach, with a fond endeavor, 
To where the little restless hands 

Are crossed in rest forever ! 



34 AT SET OF SUN. 



AT SET OF SUN. 

A LONG yon purple rim of hills, 

How bright the sunset glory lies ! 
Its radiance spans the western skies, 
And all the slumbrous valley fills. 



Broad shafts of lucid crimson, blent 
With lustrous pearl in massed white, 
And one great spear of amber light 

That flames o'er half the firmament. 

Vague, murmurous sounds the breezes bear 
A thousand subtle breaths of balm, 



AT SET OF SUN. 35 

Blown shoreward from the isles of calm, 
Float in upon the tranced air. 

And, muffling all its giant roar, 
The restless waste of waters, rolled 
To one broad sea of liquid gold, 

Moves singing up the shining shore ! 



36 "to-morrow is too far away." 



'TO-MORROW IS TOO FAE AWAY." 

mO- MORROW is too far away ! 
A bed of spice the garden is, 

Nor bud nor blossom that we miss ; 
The roses tremble on the stem. 

The violets and anemones : 
Why should we wait to gather them? 
Their bloom and balm are ours to-day, 
To - morrow — who can say ? 

To-morrow is too far away. 

Why should we slight the joy conijolete 
The flower open at our feet? 



"to-morrow is too far away." 37 

For us to-day the robin sings, 

His curved flight the swallow wings, 
For us the happy moments sta}^. 

Stay yet, nor leave us all too fleet ! 

For life is sweet, and youth is sweet, 
And love — ah, love is sweet to-day, 
To-morrow — who can say? 



38 THE YEARS. 



THE YEARS. 

TT7HAT do I owe the years, that I should bring 
Green leaves to crown them King? 

Blown, barren sands, the thistle, and the brier, 
Dead hope, and mocked desire, 

And sorrow, vast and pitiless as the sea : 
These are their gifts to me. 



What do I owe the years, that I should love 

And sing the praise thereof? 
Perhaps, the lark's clear carol wakes with morn. 

And w r inds, amid the corn, 
0]ash fairy cymbals ; but I miss the joys, 

Missing the tender voice — 



THE YEARS. 39 

Sweet as a throstle's after April rain — 
That may not sing again. 

What do I owe the years, that I should greet 

Their hitter, and not sweet, 
With wine, and wit, and laughter? Rather thrust 

The wine - cup to the dust ! 
What have they brought to me, these many years? 

Silence, and bitter tears. 



40 IF ONLY. 



IF ONLY. 

TF only in my dreams I once might see 

Thy face ! though thou shouldst stand 

With cold, unreaching hand, 

Nor vex thy lips to break 
The silence, with a word for my love's sake ; 

Nor turn to mine thine eyes, 
Serene with the long peace of Paradise, 

Yet, henceforth, life would be 
Made sweet, not wholly bitter unto me. 

If only I might know for verity, 
That when the light is done 
Of this world's sun, 
And that unknown, long" -sealed 



IF ONLY. 41 

To sound and sight, is suddenly revealed, 
That thine should be the first dear voice thereof, 
And thy dear face the first — O love, my love! 

Then coming death would be 
Sweet, ah, most sweet, not bitter unto me ! 
4 



42 SAILED. 



SAILED. 

/^\ SHINING, sapphire sea ! 

From thy bosom put away 
Every vexing thought to - day ; 
Smile through all thy dimpling spray 
All that earth contains for me, 
Of love, and truth, and purity, 
Trust I unto thee ! 

O foam -necked, azure sea! 
Let thy calm, untroubled waves, 

By the softest gales caressed, 
Eise and fall like love -beats in 

Her timid maiden breast : 



SAILED. 43 

Let thy dreamiest melodies 
Cradle her to rest. 

O wild, white, mystic sea ! 
Let thy strong upholding- arm 

Tender as a lover's be ; 
Let no breath of rude alarm 

Mar her heart's tranquillity; 
Through the sunshine, past the storm, 
Bear her safe from every harm, 

Once again to me ! 



44 NOT YET. 



NOT YET. 

"'VTOT yet from the yellow west, 

Fade, light of the autumn day 
Par lies my haven of rest, 

And rough the way. 
She has waited long, my own ! 
And the night is dark and drear 

To meet alone. 



Not yet, with the leaves that fall, 
Fall, rose of the wayside thorn 

Fair and most sweet of all 
The summer -born. 



NOT YET. 45 

But O, for my rose that stands, 
And waits, through the lessening year, 
My gathering hands ! 

Fail not, O my life, so fast — 
Fail not till we shall have met : 

Soon, soon will thy pulse be past, 
But oh, not yet ! — 

Till her fond eyes on me shine, 

And the heart so dear, so dear, 
Beats close to mine. 



46 "while lilies bud and blow." 



-WHILE LILIES BUD AND BLOW. 

TTTHILE lilies bud and blow, 
While roses grow, 
And trees wave greenly in the sun — 
Wave greenly to and fro ; 
And ring-doves coo and coo, 
And skies drop dew T , 
And th' throstle pipes above the nest 
His wee mate broods upon, 
How can one choose but sing- 



Of joy, love — every thing! 



While the north wind sobs and grieves, 
While the trees drop leaves, 



"while lilies bud and blow." 47 

And scentless, budless meadows lie 
Bare to the beating rain ; 
And the birds are grown and flown, 

And the nests are lone, 
And love, like closing day, 
Grows cold, grows old and gray — 
How can one help but sigh, 
While night draws nigh, 
And darkly runs the river to the main ! 

A little plot where showers 

May bring forth flowers — 
Poppies, mandragora, and all sweet balm ! 
Ah me ! who can but smile ? 
Only a little while, 
And hearts forget to ache, 

And eyes to wake ; 



48 "while lilies bud and blow." 

The grass clasps softly velvet palm with, palm 

Above the quiet breast, 
And hope, and God's white angels, know the rest! 



CALIFORNIA. 



4<> 



CALIFOBNIA. 

COMMENCEMENT POEM, WRITTEN FOR THE UNIVERSITY 
OF CALIFORNIA, JULY, 1871. 

TTTAS it the sigh and shiver of the leaves? 

Was it the murmur of the meadow brook, 
That in and out the reeds and water -weeds 
Slipped silverly, and on their tremulous keys 
Uttered her many melodies? Or voice 
Of the far sea, red with the sunset gold, 
That sang within her shining shores, and sang 
Within the Gate, that in the sunset shone 
A gate of fire against the outer world;? 

For ever as I turned the magic page 

Of that old song the old, blind singer sang 



50 CALIFORNIA. 

Unto the world, when it and song were young — 

The ripple of the reeds, or odorous, 

Soft sigh of leaves, or voice of the far sea — 

A mystical, low murmur, tremulous 

Upon the wind, came in with musk of rose, 

The salt breath of the waves, and far, faint smell 

Of laurel up the slopes of Tamalpais 



u Am I less fair, am I ]ess fair than these, 

Daughters of far-off seas? 
Daughters of far-off shores — bleak, over -blown 
With foam of fretful tides, with wail and moan 
Of waves, that toss wild hands, that clasp and beat 
Wild, desolate hands above the lonely sands, 
Printed no more with pressure of their feet : 
That chase no more the light feet flying swift 



CALIFORNIA. 51 

Up golden sands, nor lift 
Toam fingers white unto their garment hern, 
And flowing hair of them. 

"For these are dead: the fair, great queens are 

dead ! 
The long hair's gold a dust the wind bloweth 

"Wherever it may list ; 

The curved lips, that kissed 
Heroes and kings of men, a dust that breath, 
Nor speech, nor laughter, ever quickeneth ; 

And all the glory sped 
From the large, marvelous eyes, the light whereof 
Wrought wonder in their hearts — desire, and love! 

And wrought not any good : 
But strife, and curses of the gods, and flood, 

And lire and battle - death ! 



52 CALIFORNIA. 

Am I less fair, less fair, 
Because that my hands bear 
Neither a sword, nor any naming brand 
To blacken and make desolate nry land, 
But on my brows are leaves of olive boughs, 
And in mine arms a dove ! 

"Sea-born and goddess, blossom of the foam. 
Pale Aphrodite, shadowy as a mist 

Not any sun hath kissed ! 

Tawny of limb / roam, 
The dusks of forests dark within my hair; 

The far Yosemite, 
For garment and for covering of me, 

Wove the white foam and mist, 
The amber and the rose and amethyst 
Of her wild fountains, shaken loose in air. 



CALIFORNIA. 53 

And I am of the hills and of the sea : 

Strong with the strength of my great hills, and 

calm 
With calm of the fair sea, whose billowy gold 
Girdles the land whose queen and love I am ! 

Lo ! am I less than thou, 
That with a sound of lyres, and harp -playing, 

Not any voice doth sing 
The beauty of mine eyelids and my brow? 
Nor hymn in all my fair and gracious ways, 

And lengths of golden days, 
The measure and the music of my praise? 

"Ah, what indeed is this 
Old land beyond the seas, that ye should miss 
For her the grace and majesty of mine? 

Are not the fruit and vine 



54 CALIFORNIA. 

Fair on my hills, and in my vales the rose? 

The palm-tree and the pine 
Strike hands together under the same skies 

In every wind that blows. 

What clearer heavens can shine 
Above the land whereon the shadow lies 
Of her dead glory, and her slaughtered kings, 

And lost, evanished gods? 

Upon my fresh green sods 
No king has walked to curse and desolate : 
But in the valleys Freedom sits and sings, 

And on the heights above ; 
Upon her brows the leaves of olive boughs, 

And in her arms a dove ; 
And the great hills are pure, undesecrate, 

White with their snows untrod, 
And mighty with the presence of their God ! 



CALIFORNIA. 55 

"Hearken, how many years 
I sat alone, I sat alone and heard 

Only the silence stirred 
By wind and leaf, by clash of grassy spears, 
And singing bird that called to singing bird. 

Heard but the savage tongue 
Of my brown savage children, that among 
The hills and valleys chased the buck and doe, 

And round the wigwam fires 
Chanted wild songs of their wild savage sires, 
And danced their wild, weird dances to and fro, 
And wrought their beaded robes of buffalo. 

Day following upon day, 
Saw but the panther crouched upon the limb, 

Smooth serpents, swift and slim, 
Slip through the reeds and grasses, and the bear 

Crush through his tangled lair 



56 CALIFORNIA. 

Of chapparal, upon the startled prey ! 

"Listen, how I have seen 
Plash of strange fires in gorge and black ravine ; 
Heard the sharp clang of steel, that came to drain 

The mountain's golden vein — 



And laughed and sang, and sang and laughed 



Because that 'now,' I said, 'I shall be known! 

I shall not sit alone ; 
But reach my hands unto my sister lands ! 

And they? Will they not turn 
Old, wondering dim eyes to me, and yearn — 

Aye, they will yearn, in sooth, 
To my glad beauty, and my glad fresh youth ! 

c ' What matters though the morn 



California. 57 

Redden upon my singing- fields of corn ! 
What matters though the wind's unresting feet 

Ripple the gold of wheat, 

And my vales run with wine, 

And on these hills of mine 
The orchard boughs droop heavy with ripe fruit? 

When with nor sound of lute 
Nor lyre, doth any singer chant and sing 

Me, in my life's fair spring : 
The matin song of me in my young day? 
But all my lays and legends fade away 
From lake and mountain to the farther hem 
Of sea, and there be none to gather them. 

" Lo ! I have waited long! 
How longer yet must my strung harp be dumb, 
Ere its great master come? 



58 CALIFORNIA. 

Till the fair singer comes to wake the strong, 
Rapt chords of it unto the new, glad song ! 

Him a diviner speech 

My song-birds wait to teach : 

The secrets of the field 

My blossoms will not yield 

To other hands than his ; 

And,, lingering for this, 
My laurels lend the glory of their boughs 

To crown no narrower brows. 
For on his lips must wisdom sit with youth ; 
And in his eyes, and on the lids thereof, 

The light of a great love — 

And on his forehead, truth I" 



Was it the wind, or the soft sigh of leaves,. 
Or sound of singing waters? Lo, I looked, 



CALIFORNIA. 59 

And saw the silvery ripples of the brook, 
The fruit upon the hills, the waving trees, 
And mellow fields of harvest ; saw the Gate 
Burn in the sunset : the thin thread of mist 
Creep white across the Saucelito hills ; 
Till the day darkened down the ocean rim, 
The sunset purple slipped from Tamalpais, 
And bay and sky were bright with sudden stars ! 



60 HOW LOOKED THE EARTH? 



HOW LOOKED THE EAETH? 

TTOW looked the earth unto His eyes, 
So lately closed on Paradise? 
Clad all in purity 
Of snowy raiment, as a bride 
That waiteth for her lord to see — 
That waiteth in her love and pride ? 

Was the snow white on fields and rocks, 
Whereon the shepherds watched their flocks 

In the mid -winter night? 

And saw the angel, clothed in white, 
The heavenly gates that opened wide, 

In midst whereof w T as One 



HOW LOOKED THE EARTH t 

They dared not gaze upon ! 
Snow hither, thither, and afar, 
Beneath the new, mysterious star? 

Snow upon Lebanon, 
Whose cedars stood, a crystal net 
Of frost-work, beautiful to see? 

Snow upon Olivet — 
Snow upon awful Calvary? 

Found He it fair to look upon, 
Beneath the wooing of the sun ? 

The turf whereon He trod, 
Did he not bend His glance to greet? 
The daisy glancing from the sod, 

The lily slim and tall; 
The ferny banks of sheltered nooks, 
The sinking voice within the brooks, 



61 



62 HOW LOOKED THE EARTH? 

Each slender blade of grass that sprang 
The tender shade of leafy ways, 
Each little bird that sang - 
Its wee heart out in praise — 
I think He found them sw 7 eet, 
He knew and loved them all. 



LOVE IN LITTLE. 63 



LOVE IN LITTLE. 

"OECAUSE the rose the bloom of blossoms is, 

And queenliest in beauty and in grace, " 
The violet's tender blue we love no less, 
Or daisy, glancing up with shy, sweet face. 



For all the music which the forest has, 

The ocean waves, that crash upon the beach, 

Still would we miss the whisper of the grass; 
The hum of bees ; the brooklet's silver speech. 

We would not have the timid wood -thrush mute 
Because the bul-bul more divinely sings, 



64 LOVE IN LITTLE. 

Nor lose the scarlet of dear robin's throat, 
For all the tropics' flash of golden wings. 

So do I think, though weak we be, and small, 
Yet is there One whose care is none the less : 

Who finds, perchance, some grain of worth in all, 
Or loves us for our very humbleness ! 



NO MORE. 65 



NO MOEE. 

"VTAY, then, what can he done 
When love is flown, 

When love has passed away? 

Sit in the twilight gray, 
Thinking how near he was, 
Thinking how dear he was, 

That is no more, to-day! 

How can the day be fair 
Love may not share? 

How day go by, 
Hearing- no fond words said, 



66 NO MORE. 

With no dear kisses shed 
O, how can love be dead, 
And yet not I ! 



WITHHELD. 



67 



WITHHELD. 

fl^HEREIN is sunlight, and sweet sound : 
Cool flow of waters, musical ; 
Soft stir of insect -wings, and fall 
Of blossom -snow upon the ground. 

The birds flit in and out the trees, 

Their bright, sweet throats strained full with 
song. 

The flower-beds, the summer long, 
Are black and murmurous with bees. 

'Th' unrippled leaves hang faint with dew 
In hushes of the breezeless morn ; 



68 WITHHELD. 

At eventide the stars, new born, 
And the white moonlight, glimmer through. 

Therein are all glad things whereof 

Life holdeth need through changing years ; 
Therein sweet rest, sweet end of tears ; 

Therein sweet labors, born of love. 

This is my heritage, mine own, 

That alien hands from me withhold. 
From barred windows, dark and cold, 

I view, with heart that maketh moan. 

They fetter feet and hands; they give 
Me bitter, thankless tasks to do ; 
And, cruel wise, still feed anew 

My one small hope, that I may live. 



WITHHELD. 69 

And, that no single pang I miss, 
Lo ! this one little window -space 
Is left, where through my eyes may trace 

How T sweeter than all sweet it is ! 



70 A SONG OF THE SUMMER WIND. 



A SONG OF THE SUMMER WIND. 

FJALMILY, balmily j summer wind, 

Sigh through the mountain passes ; 
Over the sleep of the beautiful deep, 

Over the woods' green masses — 
Ripple the grain of valley and plain, 
And the reeds and the river grasses. 

How many songs, O summer wind, 

How many songs you know 
Of fair, sweet things in your wanderings, 

As over the earth you go, 
To the Norland bare and bleak, from where 

The red south roses blow. 



A SONG OF THE SUMMER WIND. 71 

Where the red south blossoms blow, O wind, 

(Sing* low to me, low and stilly!) 
And the golden green of the citrons lean 

To the white of the saintly lily ; 
Where the sun -rays drowse in the orange boughs. 

( Sing, sing, for the heart grows chilly ! ) 
And the belted bee hangs heavily 

In rose and daffodilly. 

I know a song, O summer wind, 

A song of a willow -tree : 
Soft as the sweep of its fringes deep 
In languorous swoons of trojnc noons, 

But sad as sad can be ! 
Yet I would you might sing it, summer wind, 

I would you might sing it me. 

(0 tremulous, musical murmur of leaves! 



72 



A SONG OF THE SUMMER WIND. 



O mystical melancholy 
Of waves, that call from the far sea-wall! — 

Shall I render your meaning wholly, 
Ere the day shall wane to the night again, 

And the stars come, slowly, slowly?) 

I would you might sing me, summer wind, 

A song of a little chamber : 
Sing soft, sing low, how the roses grow, 

And the starry jasmines clamber; 
Through the emerald rifts how the moonlight 
drifts, 

And the sunlight's mellow amber. 

Sing of a hand in the fluttering leaves, 

Like a wee white bird in its nest : 
Of a w T hite hand twined in the leaves to find 



A SONG OF THE SUMMER WIND. 73 

A bloom for the fair young breast ; 
Sing of my love, my little love, 

My snow-white dove in her nest, 
As she looks through the fragrant jasmine leaves 

Into the wasting west. 

Tenderly, tenderly, summer wind, 

With murmurous word -caresses, 
O, wind of -the south, to her beautiful mouth 

Did you cling with your balmy kisses? 
Flutter and float o'er the white, white throat, 

And ripple the golden tresses? 

"The long year groweth from green to gold," 

Saith the song of the willow -tree: 

"My tresses cover, my roots enfold," 

O, summer wind, sing it me ! 
6 



74 A SONG OF THE SUMMER WIND. 

Lorn and dreary, sad and weary, 

As lovers that parted be — 
But sw r eet as the grace of a fair young face 

I never again may see ! 



A FANCY. 75 



A FANCY. 



THINK I would not be 



i 

A stately tree, 



Broad -boughed, with haughty crest that seeks 
the sky ! 

Too many sorrows lie 
In years, too much of bitter for the sweet ! 
Frost-bite, and blast, and heat, 
Blind drought, cold rains, must all grow weari- 
some, 

Ere one could put away, 

Their leafy garb for aye, 

And let death come. 



7<> A FANCY. 

Rather this wayside flower! 

To live its happy hour 
Of balmy air, of sunshine, and of dew. 
A sinless face held upward to the blue ; 

A bird-song sung to it, 

A butterfly to flit 
On dazzling wings above it, hither, thither 
A sweet surprise of life — and then exhale 
A little fragrant soul on the soft gale, 

To float -ah, whither! 



CUPID KISSED ME 



77 



CUPID KISSED ME. 

OVE and I, one summer day, 
Took a walk together; 
<), how beautiful the way 

Through the blooming heather! 
Far-off bells rang matin-chimes, 

Birds Bang, silver -voicing, 
And our happy hearts beat time 

To the earth's rejoicing. 
Well - a - day ! ah, well - a -day ! 

Then pale grief had missed me 
And mirth and I kept company 

Ere Cupid kissed me ! 



78 CUPID KISSED ME. 

Love ran idly where he would, 

Child -like, all unheeding; 
I as carelessly pursued 

The pathway he was leading : 
Till upon the shadowed side 

Of a cool, swift river, 
Where the sunbeams smote the tide, 

Goldenly a -quiver — 
Well-a-day! ah, well -a -day ! 

"Love," I cried, "come rest thee." 
Ah, but heart and I were gay 

Ere Cupid kissed me ! 

Shadows of a summer cloud 
Fell on near and far land ; 

Fragrantly the branches bowed 
Every leafy garland ; 



CUPID KISSED ME. 79 

While with shining head at rest, 

Next my heart reclining', 
Love's white arms, with soft caress, 

Bound my neck were twining. 
Well - a - day ! ah , well - a - day ! 

Love who can resist thee? 
On the river -banks that day 

Cupid kissed me ! 

Woe is me ! in cheerless plight, 

By the cold, sad river, 
Seek I Love, who taken flight, 

Comes no more forever : 
Love from whom more pain than bliss 

Every heart obtain eth, 
For the joy soon vanished is 

While the pang remaineth. 



80 CUPID KISSED ME. 

Well - a - day ! ah , well - a - day ! 

"Would, Love, I had missed thee, 
Peace and I are twain for aye, 

Since Cupid kissed me. 



SUMMER PAST. 81 



N 



SUMMER PAST. 

OW the summer all is over ! 
We have wandered through the clover, 
We have plucked in wood and lea 
Blue -bell and anemone. 

We were children of the sun, 

Yery brown to look upon : 

We were stained, hands and lips, 
With the berries' juicy tips. 

And I think that w T e may know 
Where the rankest nettles grow, 
And where oak and ivy weave 
Crimson ♦dories to deceive. 



82 SUMMER PAST. 

Now the merry days are over ! 

Woodland - tenants seek their cover, 
And the swallow leaves again 
For his castle -nests in Spain. 

Shut the door, and close the blind : 
We shall have the bitter wind, 

We shall have the dreary rain 
Striving-, driving at the pane. 

Send the ruddy fire - light higher ; 

Draw your easy chair up nigher ; 

Through the winter, bleak and chill. 
We may have our summer still. 

Here are poems we may read, 
Pleasant fancies to our need : 



SUMMER PAST. 83 

All, eternal summer-time, 
Dwells within the poet's rhyme ! 

All the birds' sweet melodies 

Linger in these songs of his ; 

And the blossoms of all ages 

Waft their fragrance from his pages. 



84 



WITH A WREATH OF LAUREL. 



WITH A WREATH QF LAUREL. 

/~\ WINDS, that ripple the long- grass ! 
O winds, that kiss the jeweled sea ! 
Grow still and lingering as you pass 
About this laurel tree. 

Great Shasta knew you in the cloud 

That turbans his white brow ; the sweet, 

Cool rivers ; and the woods that bowed 
Before your pinions fleet. 

With meadow scents your breath is rife ; 

With red -wood odors, and with pine: 
Now pause and thrill with twofold life, 

Each spic}' leaf I twine. 



WITH A WREATH OF LAUREL. 85 

The laurel grows upon the hill 

That looks across the western sea. 
O winds, within the boughs be still, 

sun, shine tenderly, 

And birds, sing soft about your nests : 

1 twine a wreath for other lands ; 

A grave ! nor wife nor child has blest 
With touch of loving hands. 

Where eyes are closed, divine and young, 
Dusked in a night no morn may break, 

And hushed the poet lips that sung, 
The songs none else may wake : 

Unfelt the venomed arrow- thrust, 
Unheard the lips that hiss disgrace, 



8(> WITH A WREATH OF LAUREL. 

"While the sad heart is dust, and dust 
The beautiful, sad face ! 

For him I pluck the laurel crown ! 

It ripened in the western breeze, 
Where Saucelito's hills look down 

Upon the golden seas ; 

And sunlight lingered in its leaves 

From dawn, until the scarce dimmed sky 

Changed to the light of stars ; and waves 
Sang to it constantly. 

I weave, and strive to w r eave a tone, 
A touch, that, somehow, when it lies 

Upon his sacred dust, alone, 
Beneath the English skies, 



WITH A WhEATH OF LAUREL. 87 

The sunshine of the arch it knew, 
The calm that wrapt its native hill, 

The love that wreathed its glossy hue, 
Mav breathe around it still ! 



88 OWNERSHIP. 



OWNERSHIP. 

TNa garden that I know, 

Only palest blossoms blow. 

There the lily, purest nun, 

Hides her white face from the sun, 

And the maiden rose-bud stirs 



In a garment fair as hers. 



One shy bird, with folded wings r 
Sits within the leaves and sings; 

Sits and sings the daylight long. 
Just a patient plaintive song. 



OWNERSHIP. 89 

Other gardens greet the spring 
With a blaze of blossoming 1 : 

Other song-birds, piping clear, 
Chorus from the branches near : 

But my blossoms, palest known, 
Bloom for me and me alone ; 

And my bird, though sad and lonely, 

Sings for me, and for me only. 

7 



90 IN THE POUTS. 



IN THE POUTS. 

/^HEEKS of an ominous crimson, 
Eye -brows arched to a frown, 
Pretty red lips a -quiver 

With holding their sweetness down 

Glance that is never lifted 

From the hands that, in cruel play. 
Are tearing the white -rose petals, 

And tossing their hearts away. 

Only to think that a whisper, 

An idle, meaningless jest, 
Should stir such a world of passion 

In a dear, little, loving breast ! 



IN THE POUTS. 91 

Yet ever for such light trifles 

Will lover and lass fall out, 
And the humblest lad grow haughty, 

And the gentlest maiden pout. 

Of course, I must sue for pardon ; 

For what I can hardly say ! — 
But, deaf to opposing reason, 

A woman will have her way. 

And when, in despite her frowning, 
The scorn, the grief, and the rue, 

She looks so bewitchingly pretty, 
Why, what can a fellow do? 



92 



SIESTA. 



SIESTA. 

TF I lie at ease in the cradling trees, 

Till the day drops down in the golden seas, 
Till the light shall die from the warm, wide sky, 
And the cool night cover me — what care I? 

All as one when the day is done, 
The woven woof or the web unspun : 
In my leafy nest I will lie at rest, 
A careless dreamer, and that is best. 

Does a brown eye wake for a trouble's sake, 
Ye little tenants of wood and brake? 
What deeper woe does a wild -bee know 
Than to vex the heart of a honev-blow? 



SIESTA. 93 

Bonny birds, sing to me ; butterflies, wing to me ; 
Slender convolvulus, flutter and cling to me ; 
Dim spice -odors and meadow- musk, 
Blow about me from dawn to dusk ! 

Though the city frown from her hill - tops brown, 
And the weary toilers go up and down, 
I will lie at rest in my leafy nest, 
A careless dreamer, and that is best. 



94 IN MEM0R1AM. 



IN MEMOKIAM. 

HON. B. P. AVERY DIED IN PEKING, CHINA, NOV. 8, 1875. 

/^i OD rest thy soul ! 
O, kind and pure, 
Tender of heart, yet strong to wield control, 
And to endure ! 

Close the clear eyes ! 
No greater woe 
Earth's patient heart, than when a good man dies, 
Can ever know. 

With us is night, 
Toil without rest ; 



IN MEMORIA.M. 95 

But where thy gentle spirit walks in light, 
The ways are blest. 

God's peace be thine ! 
God's perfect peace ! 
Thy meed of faithful service, until time 
And death shall cease. 



96 TWO PICTURES. 



TWO PICTURES. 

MORNING. 

A S in a quiet dream, 

The mighty waters seem 
Scarcely a ripple show^s 
Upon their blue repose. 

The sea-gulls smoothly ride 
Upon the drowsy tide, 
And a w T hite sail doth sleep 
Far out upon the deep. 

A dreamy purple fills 
The hollows of the hills : 



TWO PICTUEJES. 97 

A single cloud floats through 
The sky's serenest blue ; 

And far beyond the Gate, 
The massed vapors wait — 
White as the walls that ring 
The City of the King. 

There is no sound, no word : 
Only a happy bird 
Trills to her nestling young, 
A little, sleepy song. 

This is the holy calm ; 
The heavens dropping balm ; 
The Love made manifest, 
And near ; the perfect rest. 



98 TWO PICTURES. 



EVENING. 



The daj' grows wan and cold : 
In through the Gate of Gold 
The restless vapors glide, 
Like ghosts upon the tide. 

The brown bird folds her wing, 
Sad, with no song to sing. 
Along the streets the dust 
Blows sharp, with sudden gust. 

The night comes, chill and gray 
Over the sullen bay, 
What mournful echoes pass 
From lonely Alcatraz ! 

O bell, with solemn toll, 



TWO PICTURES. 99 



As for a passing soul ! 
As for a soul that waits, 



In vain, at heaven's gates ! 



This is the utter blight ; 
The sorrow infinite 
Of earth ; the closing wave ; 
The parting, and the grave. 



100 LONELINESS. 



LONELINESS. 

rjlHE waning- moon was up ; the stars 

Were faint, and very few ; 
The vines about the window-sill 
Were wet with falling dew ; 

A little cloud before the wind 
Was drifting down the west ; 

I heard the moaning of the sea 
In its unquiet rest : 

Until, I know not from what grief, 

Or thought of other years, 
The hand I leaned upon was cold, 

And wet with falling- tears. 



BESIDE THE DEAD. 101 



BESIDE THE DEAD. 

TT must be sweet, O thou, my dead, to lie 

With hands that folded are from every task 
Sealed with the seal of the great mystery — 
The lips that nothing answer, nothing ask. 
The life -long struggle ended; ended quite 
The weariness of patience, and of pain ; 
And the eyes closed to open not again 
On desolate dawn or dreariness of night. 
It must be sweet to slumber and forget ; 
To have the poor tired heart so still at last : 
Done with all yearning, done with all regret, 
Doubt, fear, hope, sorrow, all forever past : 
Past all the hours, or slow of wing or fleet — 
It must be sweet, it must be very sweet ! 



102 THE ROAD TO SCHOOL. 



THE ROAD TO SCHOOL. 

A MEADOW greenly carpeted; 

A strip of woodland, brown and cool. 
Through which the wandering pathway led 
Unto the village school : 

The little pathway he and I, 
Across the happy summer -land, 

In happy summer times gone by, 
Trod, daily, hand in hand. 

The mountain stream, far off, that drew 
Its glittering length across the farm, 

Reached softly down the vale, and threw 
The path one cool, white arm ; 



THE ROAD TO SCHOOL. 103 

And careless as the truant tide 

That flashed its crystal in the sun, 

Or slipped along the woodland side, 
Our wayward feet would run. 

Through tangled ferns, up furzy slopes, 
Where the broad forest shadows fell, 

Through golden seas of buttercups, 
Wind -rippled, down the dell; 

We plashed the foamy water -brink, 
We followed on the rabbit's track, 

And rang the merry bobolink 
His saucy challenge back. 

How tenderly, from stone to stone, 

Where the deep stream ran swift and clear, 



104 THE ROAD TO SCHOOI . 

He led my timid footsteps on — 
My gay, young cavalier ! 

He knew each haunt of bird and bee ; 

The secret of each nestling brood ; 
He mimicked every melody 

That thrilled the listening wood ; 

With many a carved and quaint design, 
Would fashion acorns into beads, 

Chains of the needles of the pine, 
And whistles out of reeds. 

Ah ! many a time the brave voice spake, 
An earnest pleader in my cause ; 

The tanned, round hand went out to take 
Dire strokes for broken laws : 



THE ROAD TO SCHOOL. 105 

And many a prompting, timely said, 
The master's dreaded anger turned 

From the small, idle, flaxen head 
Whose tasks were yet unlearned ! 

What quaint, sweet summer gifts he brought ! 

A white pond -lily, filled to th' brim 
With scarlet berries ; buds, half shut ; 

Gold fruits on leaf and limb ; 

Some wide - blown flower with tawny dyes ; 

A butterfly with jeweled wing, 
Or captive bird, with frighted eyes 

And wee heart, fluttering. 

Dear playmate ! in those golden ways 

Your heart found rest ; my heart endures : 



106 THE ROAD TO SCHOOL. 

But, through the weary days and days, 
Life gives no love like yours ! 

Life gives no faith ! Ah, child - mate, dear, 
When the appointed years shall fall 

From off me, as a cloud, and near 
And clear I hear the call — 

And the new way is strange to me, 

Reach, thou, and lead me, hand -in -hand 
•As down the path of old, till we 
Before the Master stand ! 

There yet once more thy brave voice raise, 
O playmate ! in thy truant's cause, 

For tasks unlearned, for wasted days, 
For all His broken laws ! 



WHO KNOWETH? 107 



WHO KNOWETH ? 

1TTHO knoweth the hope that was born to me, 
When the spring-time came with its greenery! 
With orchard blossoming, fair to see, 
With drone of beetle, and buzz of bee, 
And robin a trill on his apple -tree. 
Cheerily, cheerily ! 

Who knoweth the hope that was dead — ah me! 
That was dead — and never again to be, 
W T hen the winter came, all dismally, 
With desolate rain on desolate sea ; 
With cold snow -blossoms for wood and lea, 
And the wind a -moan in the apple-tree, 
Drearily, drearily ! 



108 MARAH. 



MAKAH. 

" rT^HE song were sweeter and better 
If only the thought were glad." 
Be hidden the chafe of the fetter, 

The scars of the wounds you have had ; 
Be silent of strife and endeavor, 

But shout of the victory won ! 
You may sit in the shadow forever, 

If only you'll sing of the sun. 

There are hearts, you must know, over tender 
With the wine of the joy- cup of years; 

One might dim for a moment the splendor 
Of eyes unaccustomed to tears : 



MARAH. 109 

So sing, if you must, with the gladness 

That brimmed the lost heart of your youth, 

Lest you breathe, in the song and its sadness, 
The secret of life at its truth. 

O, violets, born of the valley, 

You are sweet in the suu and the dew, 
But your sisters, in yonder dim alley, 

Are sweeter — and paler — than 3 r ou ! 
O, birds, you are blithe in the meadow, 

But your mates of the forest I love ; 
And sweeter their songs in its shadow, 

Though sadder the singing thereof ! 

To the weary in life's wildernesses 
The soul of the singer belongs : 
Small need, in your green, sunny places, 



110 MAR AH. 

Glad dwellers, have you of my songs. 
For you the blithe birds of the meadow 

Trill silverly sweet, every one, 
But I can not sit in the shadow 

Forever, and sing of the sun. 



THE COMING. 



Ill 



THE COMING. 

X GATHERED flowers the summer long; 

I dozed the days on sunny leas, 
And wove my fancies into song, 
Or dreamed in aimless ease. 

Or watched, from jutting cliffs, the dyes 
Of changeful waters under me, 

The lazy gulls just dip and rise, 
White specks upon the sea — 

And far away, where blue to blue 

Was wed, the ships that came and went 

And thought, O happy world ! and drew 
Therefrom a full content. 



112 THE COMING. 

My mates toiled in the ripening field, 
Nor paused for rest in cool or heat ; 

The yellow grain made haste to yield 
Its harvesting complete : 

My mates toiled in their pleasant homes, 
They plucked the fruit from laden boughs, 

And sang — "For if the Master comes 
And find no ready house!" — 

And far and strange their singing seemed, 
Aud harsh the voices every one, 

That woke the pleasant dream I dreamed 
To thought of tasks undone. 

Yet still I waited, lingered still, 
Won by a cloud, a soaring lark ; 



THE COMING. 

Till, by -and -by, the land was chill, 
And all the sky was dark. 

And lo, the Master ! — Through the night 

My mates come forth to welcome Him 
Their labor done, their garments white, 
While mine are stained and dim. 

They bring to Him their golden sheaves, 
To Him their finished toil belongs, 

While I have but these withered leaves, 
And these poor, foolish songs ! 



113 



114 REBUKE. 



REBUKE. 

** TIIHE world is old and the world is cold, 

And never a day is fair," I said. 
Out of the heavens the sunlight rolled, 

The green leaves rustled above jxiy head, 
And the sea was a sea of £*old. 



"The world is cruel," I said again, 

"Her voice is harsh to my shrinking ear, 

And the nights are dreary and full of pain." 
Out of the darkness, sweet and clear, 

There rippled a tender strain : 

Rippled the song of a bird asleep, 

That sang in a dream of the budding wood 



REBUKE. 115 

Of shining fields where the reapers reap, 

Of a wee brown mate and a nestling brood, 
And the grass where the berries peep. 

"The world is false, though the world be fair, 
And never a heart is pure," I said. 

And lo ! the clinging of white arms bare, 
The innocent gold of my baby's head, 

And the lisp of a childish prayer ! 



110 DISCIPLINE. 



DISCIPLINE. 



TTPON the patient earth 

A thousand tempests beat, 
To call to life the flowers 



That make her glad and sweet. 



So, o'er the human heart, 

The countless griefs that roll. 

But wake immortal joy 
To bloom within the soul. 



AT PEACE. 



117 



AT PEACE. 

HHUT close the wearied eyes, O Sleep ! 
So close no dreams may come between, 
Of all the sorrows they have seen ; 
Too long, too sad, their watch hath been 
Be faithful, Sleep : 
Lest they should wake — remembering; 
Lest they should wake, and waking weep, 
O Sleep, sweet Sleep ! 

Clasp close the wearied hands, O Rest ! 
Poor hands, so thin and feeble grown 
With all the tasks which they have done 
Now they are finished — every one. 
O happy Rest, 



118 AT PEACE. 

Fold them at last from laboring, 
In quiet on the quiet breast, 

O Best, sweet Rest ! 

Press close unto her heart, O Death ! 
So close, not any pulse may stir 
The garments of her sepulchre : 
Lo, life hath been so sad to her ! 
O kindest Death, 
Within thy safest sheltering 
Nor pain nor sorrow entereth — 
O Death, sweet Death ! 



UNGATHERED. 119 



UNGATHERED. 

^TEVER a leaf is shorn 

But the vine surely misses ; 
From ministering night -dews torn. 
From the sun's kisses. 

Dozing the warm light in, 

In cool winds rustling greenly — 
A leaflet with its leafy kin 

Dwelling serenely. 

Not ever bad doth fall 

With blighted leaves yet f olden - 
Never to wear its coronal 

Or white or trolden — 



120 UN GATHERED. 

But from the mother- stem 
Flutters a far, faint sighing : 

Is it a tender requiem 
Above the dying? 

Who knows what dear regrets 
Cling to the blossom broken? 

Who knows what voiceless longing frets, 
What love unspoken. 

So through the summer - shine, 
Your frail, brief lives securely 

Keep, all ye tender blossoms mine, 
Looking up purely. 

Enough to breathe the air 

Made sweet with your perfuming ; 



UNGATHERED. 121 

To see through golden days your fair 
And perfect blooming : 

The bees that round you hum, 

The butterflies that woo you — 

And happy, happy birds that come 

And sing unto you. 
9 



122 LA FLOR DEL SALVADOR. 



LA FLOE DEL SALV.ADOE. 

rMHE Daffodil sang : " Darling of the sun 
Am I, am I, that wear 
His colors everywhere." 

The Violet pleaded soft, in undertone : 
"Am I less perfect made, 
Or hidden in the shade 

So close and deep, that heaven may not see 
Its own fair hue in me?" 

The Eose stood up, full-blown, 
Eight royal as a Queen upon her throne : 

"Nay, but I reign alone," 
She said, "with all hearts for my very own." 



LA FLOR DEL SALVADOR. 123 

One whispered, with faint flush, not far away : 

"I am the eye of day, 
And all men love me ; " and, with drowsy sighs, 
A Lotus, from the still pond where she lay, 
Breathed, "I am precious balm for weary eyes." 

Only the fair field Lily, slim and tall, 

Spake not, for all ; 

Spake not and did not stir, 
Lapsed in some far and tender memory. 

Softly I questioned her, 

"And what of thee?" 
And winds were lulled about the bended head, 
And the warm sunlight swathed her as in a flame, 

While the awed answer came, 

"Hath He not said?" 



124 AFTER THE WINTER RAIN. 



AFTER THE WINTER RAIN. 

A FTER the winter rain, 

Sing, robin! — sing, swallow! 
Grasses are in the lane, 

Buds aud flowers will follow. 

Woods shall ring, blithe and gay, 
With bird -trill and twitter, 

Though the skies weep to-day, 
And the winds are bitter. 

Though deep call unto deep 

As calls the thunder, 
And white the billows leap 

The tempest under ; 



AFTER THE WINTER RAIN. 125 

Softly the waves shall come 

Up the long, bright beaches, 
With dainty flowers of foam 

And tenderest speeches 



After the wintry pain, 

And the long, long- sorrow. 
Sing, heart! — for thee again 
Joy comes with the morrow. 



126 



OBLIVION. 



OBLIVION. 

"DEYOND the flight of hours, 

Beneath the rooted flowers, 

Where winter rain, nor showers 

Of April, fall ; 
Where days that say "Alas!" 
Forget to come, to -pass; 
And joy or grief that was, 

Is ended all. 

There never sunlight gleams ; 
There sleep begets not dreams ; 
Therein no voice of streams, 

Nor voice of trees. 
From shadow into sun, 



OBLIVION. 

From light to shadow won, 
No shining rivers ran 
To shining seas. 

No birds of morning throat 
Their joy from skies remote ; 
From the still leaves no note 
On either hand ; 



No love-lorn nightingale, 



That sings while stars wax pale, 
And moonlight, as a veil, 
Is on the land. 

Many the dwellers are 
Within that valley far, 
Lit by nor sun nor star, 
Where no dawn is ; 



127 



128 



OBLIVION. 

Where sleep broods as a dove 
And love forgot of love, 
The dead delights thereof 
Can never miss. 

Wherein is spoken word, 
Nor any laughter heard ; 
The eyelids are not stirred 

By touch of tears ; 
Wherein the poet's brain 
The rapture and the pain 
Of song knows not again, 

Through all the years. 

Pale leaves of poppies shed 
About the brows and head. 
From whence the laurel, dead, 



OBLIVION. 129 



Is dropped to dust. 
Strength laid in armor down 
To mold, and on the gown 
The mold, and on the crown 

The mold and rust. 

So evermore they lie : 
The ages pass them by, 
Them doth the Earth deny, 

And Time forget ; 
Void in the years, the ways, 
As a star loosed from space, 
Upon whose vacant place 

The sun is set. 



130 QUESTION AND ANSWER. 



QUESTION AND ANSWER. 

" "VVTHAT gift hast thou for Me, 
The Crucified for thee?" 
No worthy thing- : 
Nor song, nor praise, nor tears, 
From all these many years, 
Jesus, my King. 

"In ways thy feet have sought, 
In that thy hands have wrought, 

Whatso for Me?" 
Ah, in those dreary walks, 
Behold the flowerless stalks, 
The fruitless tree ! 

"Thy heart hath love, at least — 
I crave thy love." O Priest, 



QUESTION AND ANSWER. 

It were not meet 
From bitter wells to slake 
Thy thirst. Touch thou, and make 

Its waters sweet. 

"Thy soul — that it may live!" 
Is it then mine to give? 

O Saviour, cease ! 
Like to a troubled sea, 
My spirit is in me : 

Lord, speak it peace. 

"Unto thy Friend, thy King, 
Hast then no offering, 



No gift to give? 



For all Thy love, Thy care, 
Only one little prayer : 

Saviour, forgive ! 



131 



L32 TO-DAl s SINGING 



TO-DAYS SINGING. 

TTTTEAVE me a rhyme to-day : 
No pleasant roundelay, 
But some vague, restless yearning of the heart. 

Shaped with but little art 
To broken numbers, thai shall How 

Mnsl dreamily and slow. 
I think do merry fancy should belong 



To this dav's soul;'. 



Look how the maple stands, 

Waving its bleeding hands 
With such weird gestures; and the petals fall 
From the dry roses pale, nor longer sweet: 



to -day's singing. 133 

And by the garden - wall 
The unclasped vines, and all 
These sad dead leaves, a- rustic at our feet. 

Dear bodies of the flowers, 
From which the little fragrant souls are fled, 

Beside you, lying dead, 
We say, "Another summer shall be ours 
When all these uaked houghs shall flush and ilame 
With fresh, young blossoms." Aye, but not the 

same ! 
And that is saddest. By the living bloom, 
Who cares for hist year's beauty— id the tomb? 

Spring, blossom, and decay. 

Ah. poet, sing thy day 

So brief ;i day, alas ! . . . . 



134 to-day's singing. 

Beloved, and shall we pass 

Beneath the living grass, 
Out from the glad, warm splendor of the sun? 
A little dust about some old tree's root, 

With all our voices mute, 

And all our singing done? 



FRUITIONLESS. 



13? 



FRUITIONLESS. 

A H! little flower, up -springing, azure -eyed, 
The meadow -brook beside, 
Dropping delicious balms 
Into the tender palms 
Of lover -winds, that woo with light caress: 

In still contentedness, 
Living and blooming thy brief summer -day. 
So wiser far than I, 
That only dream and sigh, 
And sighing, dream my listless life away ! 

Ah, sweet -heart birds, a -building your wee house, 
In the broad - leaved boughs ! 
Pausing with merry trill 
To praise each other's skill, 



136 FRUITIONLESS. 

And nod your pretty heads with pretty pride ; 
Serenely satisfied 

To trill and twitter love's sweet roundelay. 
So happier than I, 
That, lonely, dream and sigh, 

And sighing, dream my lonely life away ! 

Brown -bodied bees, that scent with nostrils fine 
The odorous blossom -wine ; 

Sipping, with heads half thrust 
Into the pollen dust 
Of rose and hyacinth and daffodil : 

To hive, in amber cell, 
A honey feasting for the winter -day. 
So better far than I, 
Self -wrapt, that dream and sigh, 
And sighing, dream my useless life away ! 



THE FADED FLOWER. 



137 



w 



THE FADED FLOWEK. 



E watched in the dear Home garden 



Our tenderest flower that grew 



Never a budling rarer 

The sun of the ages knew ! 

And we said, "When our leaves shall wither, 

Our petals shall drop away, 
The grace of this perfect blossom 

Shall brighten our own decay." .... 

Never the dews shall nourish, 

Never the tender rain ; 

Never the sun's warm kisses 

Shall crimson thy lips again ! 
10 



138 THE FADED FLOWEK. 

O heart of our hearts, May - blossom , 

Hope of our lessening day, 
The bloom and the grace and the fragrance, 

Are passed with thy breath away ! 



139 



DAISIES. 

TTTHEREFORE is it, as I pass 

Through the fragrant meadow - grass, 

That the daisies, nestling shyly in sweet places, 
Lifting crispy, curly heads 
From their wee, warm clover -beds, 

Seem to my imagining, little elfin faces. 

Can it be the daisies speak? 

Leaning rosy cheek to cheek, 
In a merry gossiping, lightly nodding after? 

Or a fancy, that I heard 

Just the faintest whispered word, 
And a silver- echoing ripple of soft laughter? 



140 "one touch of nature." 



"ONE TOUCH OF NATURE." 

A LARK'S song dropped from heaven, 
A rose's breath at noon ; 
A still, sweet stream that flows and flows 
Beneath a still, sweet moon : 

A little way -side flower 

Plucked from the grasses, thus ! 

A sound, a breath, a glance — and yet 
What is *t they bring to us ? 

For the world grows far too wise, 

And wisdom is but grief : 
Much thought makes but a weary way, 

And question, unbelief. 



" ONE TOUCH OF NATURE." 141 

Tliank God for the bird's song, 

And for the flower's breath ! 
Thank God for any voice to wake 

The old sweet hymn of faith ! 

For a world grown all too wise, 

(Or is 't not wise enough)? 
Thank God for anything that makes 

The path less dark and rough ! 



142 MEADOW - LARKS. 



MEADOW -LAKES. 

HWEET, sweet, sweet ! O happy that I am ! 
( Listen to the meadow - larks, across the 
fields that sing), 
Sweet, sweet, sweet ! O subtle breath of balm ! 
O winds that blow, O buds that grow, O rap- 
ture of the spring. 

Sweet, sweet, sweet ! O skies, serene and blue, 
That shut the velvet pastures in ; that fold the 
mountain's crest ! 
Sweet, sweet, sweet ! What of the clouds ye 
knew ? 
The vessels ride a golden tide, upon a sea at 
rest. 



MEADOW -LARKS. 



143 



Sweet, sweet, sweet! Who prates of care and 
pain? 
Who says that life is sorrowful? life so 
glad, so fleet ! 
Ah ! he who lives the noblest life finds life the 
noblest gain, 
The tears of pain a tender rain to make its 
waters sweet. 

Sweet, sweet, sweet ! O happy world that is ! 
Dear heart, I hear across the fields my mate- 
ling pipe and call. 
Sweet, sweet, sweet ! O world so full of bliss ! 
For life is love, the world is love, and love is 
over all ! 



144 I CAN NOT COUNT MY LIFE A LOSS. 



I CAN NOT COUNT MY LIFE A LOSS. 

r CAN not count my life a loss, 
With all its length of evil days. 
I hold them only as the dross 

About its gold, whose worth outweighs; 
For each and all I give Him praise. 

For, drawing nearer to the brink 
That leadeth down to final rest, 

I see with clearer eyes, I think; 

And much that vexed me and oppressed, 
Have learned was right, and just, and best. 

So, though I may but dimly guess 



I CAN NOT COUNT MY LIFE A LOSS. 145 

Its far intent, this gift of His 
I honor; nor would know the less 
One sorrow, or in pain or bliss 
Have other than it was and is. 



146 FROM LIVING WATERS. 



FROM LIVING WATERS. 

COMMENCEMENT POEM, WRITTEN FOR THE UNIVERSITY 
OF CALIFORNIA, JUNE, 1876. 

"TNTO the balm of the clover, 
Into the dawn and the dew, 
Gome, my poet, my lover, 
Single of spirit and true! 

tf Sweeter the song of the throstle 

Shall ring from its nest in the vine, 
And the la?*k, my beloved apostle, 
Shall chant thee a gospel divine. 

"Ah I not to the dullard, the schemer, 
I of my fullness may give, 



FROM LIVING WATERS. 



147 



But thou, whom the xoorld catteth dreamer, 
Drink of my fountains and lire!" 

O, and golden in the sun did the river waters run, 

O, and golden in its shining all the mellow land- 
scape lay ; 

And the poet's simple rhyme blended softly with 
the chime 

Of the bells that, rang the noontide, in the city, 
far away. 

And the gold and amethyst of the thin, trans- 
parent mist, 

Lifted, drifted from the ocean to the far hori- 
zon's rim, 

Where the white, transfigured ghost of some ves- 
sel, long since lost, 



14:8 FROM LIVING WATERS. 

Half in cloud and half in billow, trembled on 
its utmost brim. 

And I said, "Most beautiful, in thy noontide 
dream and lull, 

Art thou, Nature, sweetest mother, in thy sum- 
mer raiment drest ; 

Aye, in all thy moods and phases, lovingly I 
name thy praises, 

Yet through all my love and longing chafeth 
still the old unrest." 

"Art thou a -worn and a -weary, 
Sick with the doubts that perplex, 
Come from thy wisdom most dreary, 

Less fair than the faith which it wrecks ? 



FROM LIVING WATERS. 149 



: ' Not in the tomes of the sages 
Lieth the word to thy need ; 
Truer my blossomy pages, 
Sweeter their lessons to read. 



"Aye," I said, "but con it duly, who may read 

the lesson truly ; 
Who may grasp the mighty meaning, hidden 

past our finding out? 
From the weary search unsleeping, what is yielded 

to our keeping? 
All our knowledge, perad venture ; all our wisdom 

merely doubt ! 

* 
"O my Earth, to know thee fully ! I that love 

thee, singly, wholly ! 



150 FROM LIVING WATERS. 

Ill thy beauty thou art veiled ; in thy melody 

art dumb. 
Once, unto my perfect seeing give this mystery 

of being ; 
Once, thy silence breaking, tell me, whither go 

we? whence we come?" 

And I heard the rustling leaves, and the sheaves 
against the sheaves 

Clashing lightly, clashing brightly, as they rip- 
ened in the sun ; 

And the gracious air astir with the insect hum 
and whirr, 

And the merry plash and ripple where the river 
waters run : 

Heard the anthem of the sea — that most mighty 
melody — 



FROM LIVING WATERS. 151 

Only these; yet something deeper than to own 

my spirit willed. 
Like a holy calm descending - , with my inmost 

being blending — 
Like the "Peace" to troubled waters, that are 

pacified and stilled. 

And I said: "Ah, what are we? Children at the 
Master's knee — 

Little higher than these grasses glancing upward 
from the sods ! 

Just the few first pages turning in His mighty 
book of learning — 

We, mere atoms of beginning, that would wres- 
tle with the gods ! " 

" In the lead one of my daisies 



152 FKOM LIVING WATERS. 

Deeper a meaning is set, 
Than the seers ye crown with your pj'aises, 
Have wrung from the centuries yet. 

"Leave them their doubt and derision; 
Lo, to the knowledge I bring, 
Clingeth no dimness of vision ! 
Come, my chosen, my king ! 

"Out from the clouds that cover, 

The night that would blind and betray, 
Come, my poet, my lover, 
Into the golden day!" 

O, and deeper through the calm rolled the cease- 
less ocean psalm; 



FROM LIVING WATERS. 153 

O, and brighter in the sunshine all the meadows 

stretched away; 
And a little lark sang clear from the willow 

branches near, 
And the glory and the gladness closed about me 

where I lay. 

And I said: "Aye, verily, waiteth yet the mas- 
ter key, 

All these mysteries that shall open, though to 
surer hand than mine ; 

All these doubts of our discerning, to the peace 
of knowledge turning, 

All our darkness, which is human, to the light, 

which is divine ! " 
11 



154 IN ADVERSITY 



IX ADVERSITY 



T71RIENDS whom I feasted in my luxury 
In sorrow turned from me. 



A hundred servitors, that once did wait 
Upon my high estate, 

Me — desolate, forsaken, old, and poor — 
Thrust from my own house -door. 

Only that One whom I in joy forgot, 
My fault remembered not, 

And in my tears of late -born penitence 
Drove me not, scorning, hence. 



IN ADVERSITY. 



155 



His strong arm raised me where I prostrate fell ; 
He made my bruised heart well ; 

My thirst He quenched; my hunger gave He bread; 
And my weak steps He led 

Through the blind dark of desert sands, to where 
His fresh, green pastures- were. 

0, calm and fair the days, and all delights 
Make beautiful the nights ! 

0, fair the nights, and beautiful the days, 
Within these quiet ways ! 

What need is there which He may not supply? 
Familiar steps go by, 



15G IN ADVERSITY. 

And well-known voices die upon my ear — 
But He is ever near ! 

The vision of all beauty and all grace 
Is in His perfect face. 

Sweeter His voice is than the melodies 
Wherewith I lulled my ease. 

Wisdom and truth, and measures of sweet song. 
Unto His words belong; 

And to my lowly roof His presence brings 
Splendor exceeding kings' ! 



SUMMONS. 



157 



SUMMONS. 

/~\ LONG, swinging bells of pomegranate ! 

O orange -buds, falling as snow! 
O singing of lark and of linnet — 

Singing high in the leaves, singing low — 
Can you sing to my heart, can you win it 

One moment to these, ere I go? 

"What flowers shall be sweeter than these are? 

What sky shall be blue as this sky? 
As a fair, fringed girdle the trees are, 

About the green place where I lie ; 
And the swarms of the brown honey-bees are 

As clouds over clover and rye. 



158 



SFMMONS. 



But ah ! for the singing of swallows 

What thought, though the singing be sweet 

What ease, though the grass of the hollows 
And hills be as down to my feet ! 

Love beckons, the ready heart follows, 
How fleet to the summons, how fleet ! 

And unto the dove, as she cooeth, 
It 's O, for the wings of the dove ! — 

And unto the wind, as it bloweth, 

For the pinions and fleetness thereof — 

That the feet unto where the heart goeth 
May be swift, may be swift, to my love ! 



SUFFICIENT. 159 



SUFFICIENT. 

/"^ITKON, pomegranate, 
Apricot and peach ; 

Flutter of apple - blows 
Whiter than the snow; 

Filling the silence 

With their leafy speech. 

Budding and blooming- 
Down row after row. 

Breaths of blown spices, 
Which the meadows yield 

Blossoms broad -petaled, 
Starry buds and small : 



160 SUFFICIENT. 

Gold of the hill -sides, 
Purple of the field, 

"Waft to my nostrils 

Their fragrance, one and all 

Birds in the tree -tops, 

Birds that fill the air, 
Trilling-, piping, singing,. 

In their ^nierry moods : 
Gold wing and brown wing, 

Flitting here and there, 
To the coo and chirrup 

Of their downy broods. 

What grace has summer 
Better that can suit? 



What gift can autumn 



SUFFICIENT. 161 



Bring us more to please ? 
Bed of blown roses, 

Mellow tints of fruit, 
Never can be fairer, 

Sweeter than are these. 



162 A PRAYER. 



A PKAYER. 

/ \ SOUL ! however sweet 
The goal to which I hasten with swift feet — 

If, just within my grasp, 

I reach, and joy to clasp, 
And find there one whose body I must make 

A footstool for that sake, 
Though ever and forevermore denied, 

Grant me to turn aside ! 

0, howsoever dear 
The love I long for, seek, and find anear — 
So near, so dear, the bliss 
Sweetest of all that is, 



A PRAYER. 163 

If I must win by treachery or art, 

Or wrong one other heart, 
Though it should bring me death, my soul, that day 

Grant me to turn away ! 

That in the life so far 
And yet so near, I be without a scar 
Of wounds dealt others ! Greet with lifted eyes 

The pure of Paradise ! 

So I may never know 
The agony of tears I caused to flow ! 



164 THE BROOK. 



THE BROOK. 

mHROUGH the dreary winter, 

Ice -locked, white, and chill ! 
All its laughter sleeping, 

All its music still ; 
Not a flower to love it 
From the bank above it ; 

Not a bird to trill, 
In its ripples laving 

Yellow wing and bill ; 
No green, shadowy silence, 

Where one may go at will, 

And dream and dream one's fill. 

Without voice or color. 



THE BROOK. 165 



In a barren land : 
Dripping skies bent over, 
Dripping skies that stand. 
Forlorn, on either hand. 



But a little sunshine — 

How its voice shall wake ! 
Over sand and pebble 
Ring the silver treble, 

Glad for summer's sake ! 
Fairy boats shall ride it, 
Lovers walk beside it, 

Birds build in the brake ; 
Flowers and flowering sedges 
Laugh along its edges — 

Glad, for summer's sake ! 



166 THE BROOK. 

Just a little sunshine, 

And the clouds will part ; 
All its fettered beauty 

Into life will start. 
Be glad, thou shining rover, 
With bird, and bee, and clover 
Sing summer through and over, 

Ah, happy that thou art ! . . 
Just a little sunshine — 

O my heart, my heart ! 



AN EMBLEM. 



167 



AN EMBLEM. 

X WAITED for a single flower to blow, 

While all about me flowers were running wild: 
Gold -hearted kingcups, sunnily that smiled, 

And daisies like fresh -fallen flakes of snow, 

And rarest violets, sweet whole colonies 
Nestled in shady grasses by the brooks, 
That sang, for love of them and their sweet 
looks, 

Delicious melodies. 

Now they are perished, all the fragile throng, 
That held their sweetness up to me in vain. 
Only this single blossom doth remain, 

Eor whose unfolding I have waited long, 



168 



AN EMBLEM. 



Thinking, " How rare a bloom these petals clasp I" 
And lo ! a sickly, dwarfed, and scentless thing, 
Mocking my love and its close nourishing, 

And withering in my grasj). 

O dream ! O hope ! O promise of long years : 
Art thou a flower that I have nurtured so, 
Missing the every -day sweet joys that grow 

By common pathways ; moistened with my tears, 

Watched through the dreary day and sleepless 
night, 
And all about thy slender rootlets cast 
My life like water, but to find at last 

A bitterness and blight? 



FORGOTTEN. 169 



FORGOTTEN. 

/^\H, my heart, when life is done, 

How happy will the hour be ! 
All its restless errands run : 
Noontide past, and set of sun, 
And the long, long night begun ; 
How happy will the hour be ! 

Sunlight, like a butterfly, 

Drop down and kiss the roses ; 

Starlight, softly come and !' 
Where dreamful slumbei 

But Death, sweet Death, b 

Where love in peace reposes ! 
12 



170 CHRISTMAS EVE. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 

TT>EACE in thy snowy breast, 

O cloud, from storms at rest ! 
Peace in the winds that sleep 
Upon the deep. 

Peace in the starry height : 
Peace infinite, 

Through all the worlds that mov 

Within His love. 

(), all sad hearts, that be 
On land or on the sea, 

God's peace with you rest light 

This Christmas night ! 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 171 

And with the souls that stand 
In that dear hind 

Where pain and all tears cease, 

Most perfect peace ! 



172 FULFILLMENT. 



FULFILLMENT. 

TT^OR the fledgeling bird- life stilled, 
Its wings untaught, 
Its music all untrilled ; 
For the poet's voiceless thought, 

The song unsung ; 
For the loving- heart unsought ; 
Hope, fair and sweet and young', 



Dead — nor forgot ; 



For the seed that is not sown, 
And the bud that falls unblown, 
What shall atone V 

Somewhere the seed must spring 
The song be sung ; 



FULFILLMENT. 

Somewhere, green boughs among, 

The bird must sing, 

Must brood and build ; 
Somewhere the heart be wooed ; 
Somewhere, far out of pain, 
Hope, fair and strong, again 

Rise from the tomb. 
Somewhere, for God is good, 
Life's blossoms, unfulfilled, 
Must spring from dust and gloom 

To perfect bloom. 



173 



